


Trigger Happy

by Kartoffelwald



Series: These are dark days we're living in [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie, M/M, Some domestic fluff, domestic fluff doesn't last, zombie apocalypse AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kartoffelwald/pseuds/Kartoffelwald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Between the period of unconsciousness and wake, just before daylight broke and when it was still too early for his brain to properly work, he would think himself back in their small apartment. "</p>
<p>Jean and Marco's peaceful cohabitation came crashing down one fine morning when Jean sees their Granny neighbor trying to bite her grand kid's face off. </p>
<p>From then it was a flurry of survival and heartaches. </p>
<p>(Part of a series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This world,

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got this done. Hopefully the second part will be done before Christmas.... or New Year at the latest. It won't be long anyway.

Prologue

 

 

Jean and Marco. Horse-face and Freckles. Marco and Jean. Jesus and his demon spawn side-kick. There were a lot of names other kids call them by, but no matter what it were, it was always the two of them. More often than not, one cannot look for Jean and not find Marco, and finding Marco also almost always meant finding Jean. Ever since the Bodts moved next door to the Kirschteins, when Jean was only ten years old and he saw a smiling Marco waving hello from the room adjacent to his, they’d been hooked to each other, spending every waking moment possible together.  And the older they got, the more the people of the little town noticed how the two boys acted _in sync_. Maybe it was the sheer fact that they were polar opposites that made them so good for each other. Or maybe, it was simply because they were Jean and Marco.

With a population of less than five thousand, mostly aged seniors, and only around two hundred kids in high school, Jean and Marco’s relationship was an anomaly. They were an old-fashioned town with old-fashioned beliefs. Though the younger ones were more tolerant, snide remarks from the older citizens were not uncommon. And the thing was the two boys had been getting them long before they realized the extent of their relationship.

By the time they were fourteen, Jean had quickly realized he wasn’t like other boys. As his other friends ogled big breasted ladies on some R-rated magazine one of them had snuck in class, Jean’s gaze, more often than not, lingered on the few male models. This discovery had, for a while, caused a strain between him and Marco. In a little town where more than half of community were regular church attendees, especially the Bodts, it wasn’t difficult for Jean to feel alienated—even if nobody else saw it.

Marco was the poster boy of a good church kid. The only reason Jean even went to church was because of Marco. He’d endured all the volunteer works and fund-raisers (and he wouldn’t ever admit having a tiny teeny bit of fun and feeling of accomplishment) for his best friend.

Until the present, Jean Kirschtein still doubted the existence of this God, but it doesn’t mean he could mock Marco’s faith.

The golden bronze haired teen had never cared for the rest of the town. Always being the troublemaker who was more likely to corrupt that Bodt kid, he was used to the disapproving gazes held his way. But the thought of his own best friend shunning him was enough to make him numb. Fear had helped him hide his preference, making sure he acted as tough and manly as he could be.

Yet even before then, they both knew they weren’t normal friends. They walked with their shoulders touching, sat a little too close to each other, occasionally went out with just the two of them, shared almost all of their stuff, and slept on the same bed most nights ever since Jean learned how to  hop over from his window to Marco’s.

Jean savoured waking up in the mornings cuddled in Marco’s arm. He would stay there for a few minutes before he reluctantly gets up to return to his own room before one of the many Bodts living in the house checked up on the freckled boy.

And even when Marco was asked out by an older girl from school, the taller boy had immediately turned her down when she refused to get along with Jean. Jean couldn’t deny how pleased he was with that.

As if things weren’t bad enough, the young Kirschtein had also found himself staring longer at his best friend, memorizing every contour of his body, trying to remember where each and every freckle on his cheek was.  The moment Jean had tried distancing himself from Marco was also the moment he had failed to hide his attraction.

Being absorbed in convincing everyone that he was ‘not attracted to guys, especially Marco Bodt’ had left the young Kirschtein dumbfounded and angry when the said boy had confronted him one late afternoon while walking home from school.

“Forget it, Marco, I’m fine. I feel fucking perfect,” he dismissed.

“C’mon Jean, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would make me hate you,” the taller Bodt kid had told him, looking him straight in the eyes.

Jean laughs a little scathingly before he replied, “Well yeah, considering you’re the heavens’ failed attempt at Christ’s second coming. Just leave it, will you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He tightened his grip on his backpack before walking away. But Marco catches up to him quickly. The boy grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. Unfortunately, his instincts kick in and he drew back his free arm to release a punch.

He made Marco’s nose bleed. He kept muttering apologies until they made it to his house. Fortunately, Jean didn’t break Marco’s nose, and after half a pack of tissue paper, they managed to clean everything up.

“Stop apologizing, I’m fine. See?” The freckled boy leans in closer in an attempt to make his point. This didn’t bode well for Jean.

So close, Marco was so, so close.

_Too close._

Moments later, after their lips had parted, he would ask himself what he was thinking. But then he’d realize just as soon that, in fact, he wasn’t. What soon followed were the longest seven days of Jean Kirschtein’s fairly boring life, when Marco suddenly decided to join his cousin for a trip in the mountains. He couldn’t call him—couldn’t ask if he was mad at him, if he hated him, if he thinks about the kiss.

 

+

 

Jean knew that if he were the one stuck with a crappy job in a 24/7 mart for the graveyard shift, he’d be as pissed as hell too, so he decided not to give the person manning the register much problem. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t actively scowl at the man, he was just returning the favor. Or maybe his face is just like that, in a perpetual state of dislike and an expression that always said, ‘are you shitting me?’ Either way, that person (His name tag read ‘Levi.’) should thank him for being relatively civilized that ungodly hour. He could think of twenty different ways to further piss the living daylights out of Levi, and he would have done them if it weren’t for Marco. So instead of misplacing items on the shelf or purposely creating unnecessary noise, he stuck with simply stealing kisses from Marco.

“Jean,” the black haired male whined.

“Marco,” Jean mocked, enjoying the exasperated look on his lover’s face, “Relax, there’s no one here and that other guy’s busy.” Marco grunted in reply. That was a lie though. The guy at the register had seen it, or Jean was pretty sure he did, because the employee had an eyebrow raised in their direction.  

They rode Marco’s battered truck back to their apartment. The streets empty all throughout the way home sans the drunken man a few blocks from the store. They passed by the coffee shop where Jean worked on Tuesdays and Fridays from six am to four in the afternoon. It wasn’t surprising to see a few students still loitering about the place. Finals were just around the corner, and the quaint 24-hour coffee shop was just two blocks away from Trost University. It was perfect for the students living in the dorm, even if it means sneaking in after curfew hour.

“You have no idea how glad I am that you managed to convince the college dean to let you stay outside the campus,” Jean said. Freshmen students were required to take residence in the university dorms. Jean had prepared himself for the lonely nights after Marco received his acceptance letter, but when his dark-haired lover had shown him another letter allowing him to reside outside the campus, he had been ecstatic. Still, it wasn’t hard to picture Marco being part of the students who frequented the coffee shop. And maybe it wouldn’t have been bad if that were the case and he was still an employee there.

“Just imagine what the apartment would look like without me to look after you,” Marco laughed.

“Uh huh, speak for yourself. I bet your room mate wouldn’t last a week with you,” Jean teased. Of course, that was another lie. Marco Bodt was a saint. He was, hands down, the nicest and most considerate person Jean had ever met; and he’s met a lot of people in his work, waiting tables. And the mere fact that he can stand being with Jean for more than an hour says a lot. Jean was an asshole by default.

“I guess, but then again, you’d miss me so much.” Marco turned to him and smiled _his smile_. The one that had Jean questioning everyday how could someone like Marco put up with him, the smile that made him want to jump off the bridge because, god, he didn’t deserve him; but he wouldn’t actually jump off, because that would really upset Marco. And Jean Kirschtein was selfish in all other aspect except for Marco Bodt.

“Yup, and I’d probably kidnap you from the dorms every night anyway.” Jean grinned and briefly faced the other male before returning his gaze on the road.

Marco’s classes for the next day were cancelled, and Jean had taken the day off from his work in a mildly authentic French restaurant. (He would know, his grandparents in his father’s side were both French, thus, he’d remembered spending a few summers in France.)  It’s been so long since they had the whole day to themselves and they intended on making the most out of it, even if it only meant lazing on the sofa together watching Family Guy reruns, or slasher films that both of them were so secretly fond of.

Their apartment was located on the sixteenth floor of a twenty-floor building. It only has one room, one bathroom, and a joined living area and kitchen. The place was meant for a single person, but both male found it adequate. The double bed they shared might not be big enough for two grown men, but they made do. After all, the rent was cheap, leaving them with enough to occasionally eat a fancy dinner or a movie every few weeks, and all the other utilities were fine anyway, so it actually was a more than good enough deal for them.

The view from the sixteenth floor was good— pretty enough— but not at all mesmerizing—or so Jean thinks. Marco, on the other hand, spent his time in between studying and writing term papers looking outside. All that Jean could see were building tops and looking down would give him a normal messy, busy street with people and cars looking like small insects of a colony moving about nonstop. One couldn’t even get a proper glimpse of the zenith from their window. Jean reckons that Marco was just really letting his mind wander and the view outside had nothing to do with the serene expression that paint his lover’s face. Either way he liked it when Marco gazed outside. He loved how the man’s honey-coloured eyes would soften and a small smile would grace his lips. Jean revered seeing the most important person in his life be so _comfortable_ in his own skin. It was for no other reason other than the fact that he was utterly, deeply, and madly in love with the said freckled person.

Because the building’s elevator hadn’t been working for the last two months, it became a daily routine for the two males to traverse the many flights of stairs separating them and their home. Sometimes the thought of just camping by the stairs, or even just outside the place was so tempting that Jean would seriously considering doing just that. Only the thought of coming home to Marco or Marco perseveringly trudging the obstacle to get home to him (because unlike him, Marco was dozen times more a decent human being that Jean doubts camping on the stair or outside ever crossed his mind) could motivate him to drag his tired body through the damned steps. It was probably worth it, when every evening, finally, their lips lock in a passionate kiss and their arms, in a gentle embrace.

 

In the days to come, when everything had gone absolutely downhill, when his clothes and hands are marred by blood and his body was littered with scars to remind him of his survival, and when having at least six knives easily within reach came easily to him as it were breathing every time he needed to sleep, memories of those kisses, embraces, and nightly trysts from younger years would keep Jean Kirschtein moving forward. Between the period of unconsciousness and wake, just before daylight broke and when it was still too early for his brain to properly work, he would think himself back in their small apartment. For a moment, he would feel Marco wrapped around him, and for that single moment, everything would be fine: there were no zombies to kill, no need to worry whether he’d get something form the town or not, no losing hope that Marco had escaped and survived the sudden infiltration of their camp.

 

That night was spent curled together on the floor, leaning on the couch, as they watched a Japanese horror film recommended by one of Jean’s co-workers. Jean had his head tucked under Marco’s chin and the man’s arms were around him. Few empty cans of soda were strewn on the floor and between them was a half a bowl of popcorn mixed with chips.

By the time the end credits rolled in, Jean was already snoring softly against Marco’s neck and the latter was barely even awake enough to press the power button on the remote. He’d dozed off several more times before finally reluctantly getting up to carry both their tired bodies to bed. It would have been romantic to say that Jean Kirschtein fit in his arms quite well, but that would have also been quite unrealistic. In truth, it had been a hard feat. Jean was a grown adult male who was roughly as tall as Marco and most likely weighed just as much. But Marco hadn’t thought twice about carrying his lover to bed.  After all, their lazy day wouldn’t start well if both of them were feeling sore—and not the _good_ kind of sore either.

The morning was first met by the continuous annoying buzz of Marco’s phone. Though tired and lacking proper sleep, the dark haired man lazily extended his arms to grab his phone off their night stand. There were several new mails. The words were blurry at first. He had to blink a few times before finally making them out. Beside him, Jean was still dead to the world.

 

To: [mailing list: trost university students] [mailing list: university staff and personnel]   
From: TrostUniveristy@trost.edu   
6 : 15

General Advisory   
Do not drink tap water.   
Instructions were given out by authority figures earlier not to let the students drink or use the tap water for whatever purpose.  
Specific reasons had not been disclosed.   
Full cooperation of the student body is expected.  
Classes will resume as usual.

Good day.

 

To: [mailing list: trost university students] [mailing list: university staff and personnel]   
From: TrostUniveristy@trost.edu  
7 : 00

Classes are cancelled until further notice.   
Everyone is advised to stay within the confines of their homes or dorm rooms.   
Do not drink tap water.  
It has been proven to have ill effect to one’s mental health.  
If you had or know someone who had drank tap water in the last 36 hours, report to this number  
099-87XX to XX.  
Stay away from any person exhibiting unusual behaviour.  
No further details have been disclosed.  
Men in military fatigues will be seen around the campus and the city.  
Do not panic. This is simply standard procedure.  
Again, everyone is advised to stay within the confines of their homes or dorm rooms.

 

To: [You]  
From: Miller (Bio 100)*  
7 : 18

Yo! U shouldve gone 2 steve’s last nyt. Jo went crazy & tried to bite drake. Every1 knows D slept w/ myrtle.  
U shouldve seen dem go at it. Couldve brought ur gf. 2 dudes took Jo after knocking him out. Never got back 2 d party. Poor suckerz hahaha  


To: [You]  
From: Greene (De A2-1)**   
7 : 36

Guten Tag! Ich hoffe, dass Sie ganz gut sind.   
Ich frage mich, ob Sie wissen, warum haben wir keine Unterrichten.  
Ich höre störende Gerüchte herum. Wissen Sie über ihnen schon?  
Danke.

_(Translation: Good morning! I hope that you are well._  
I was wondering if you know why we have no classes.  
I’ve been hearing disturbing rumours around. Do you know about them already  
Thanks.)

 

To: Greene (De A2-1)  
From: [You]  
8 : 03

Hallo Diane!   
Entschuldigung aber ich habe keine Ahnung warum. Ich kenne Nichts über die Gerüchte.  
Bitte kannst du mir mehr mitteilen, wenn du schon mehr Idee über alles hast?  
Danke!  
 _[Translation: Hello Diane!_  
Sorry but I have no idea why. I know nothing about the rumours.  
Please can you tell me more when you have more idea about anything?  
Thanks!)

 

Jean stirred softly beside him. He opened his eyes slowly before shutting them again. Marco went to lie in the bed, facing him. He ran his fingers through Jean’s hair. In response, the man hooked his arms around Marco’s waist and willed him closer, pressing their hard bodies together. Then, he lifted his head a bit to peck Marco on the corner of his mouth. “Morning,” he grumbled. Marco smiled and pushed their foreheads together while deliberately tangling their legs.

“Get up, we have the whole day to ourselves,” he said.

“What d’ya wanna do?” Jean still had his eyes shut, his voice laced with drowsiness. Marco used this moment to drag the unsuspecting male over him and out of the bed, making both of them land on the floor with a thud when Jean held onto him tighter.

“For starters, better get up. I don’t want to spend the whole day in bed again. We did that last time,” the black haired man said as he stood.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Jean replied with a little whine. 

They showered together and Marco praised himself for resisting Jean’s advances under the spray of water _thrice_. It didn’t matter that none of them were feeling assiduous enough to make a proper breakfast when they only ended up with poorly made cups of coffee courtesy of Jean’s inattentiveness due to his continuous advances on Marco.

Drunk in comfort and content, it wasn’t until Jean was out of their apartment, waiting for Marco who had promptly remembered his phone that was left on the night stand, that reality of what’s happening outside their shared home penetrated their blissful world.

 

To: [mailing list: trost university students] [mailing list: university staff and personnel]   
From: TrostUniveristy@trost.edu   
9 : 53

Evacuation order has been issued.  
Details will be explained in full at a later time.  
Military trucks and are stationed in the city centre.  
Everyone is expected to pack necessities and approach the nearest military personnel.  
This will be the last message from the university until matters has been cleared.  


 

Jean heard a loud thump. It came from the unit directly across them, the one occupied by an elderly and her mute grandson of thirteen. He ignored it at first. Then there was a rattling from what he assumes were a number of silverwares and plates hitting the floor. It alarmed him then.

Hesitantly he knocks on their door, once, twice, then the third time. But there were only loud thumps from falling objects still. 

“Mrs. Merryweather?” he asked unsure.

There were only four tenants on the floor. He and Marco, the Merryweathers, an old man he’d never interacted with, and a single woman whom they occasionally met in the mornings. None of the four living on the same floor shared relationship relatively comparable to acquaintance. They were strangers through and through.

When the noise had not gone down even with his boisterous knocks, he had opted to bring the barrier down.  

“Jean?” Marco asked from their doorway. Jean lifted his index finger to his lips, and Marco quickly complied to remain silent.

They were met with broken vase, shattered tea cups and plates, and furniture lying on their wrong side, strewn all over the floor. And the biggest surprise yet was the sight of a young boy huddle on the corner with the kitchen table blocking him from his crazed guardian. Tears streaked down his cheeks and chin, and he let out moans of fear and panic.

Marco realized two things then: First, young Thomas was mute, which wasn’t a surprise at all, and really, he should’ve known. Then, that the older Merryweather was currently trying to attack Thomas was probably included in what the messages described as “unusual behaviour.”

Upon noticing their presence, the woman quickly turned to pursue them instead.

“Run!”

He didn’t even feel Jean pull him towards the door as he tried to make a call. Clearly something was very wrong with Mrs. Merryweather seeing that she was bleeding from her gums, nails, and eye sockets.


	2. a tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco (with Little Thomas) stays in camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part contains a lot of explanation--albeit shitty.

Some mornings Jean still expected to wake up in their quaint little apartment, huddled in comfort with his lover. Maybe they’d have breakfast together and he’d tell Marco about his really funny dream about zombies except it wasn’t really, and it scared him and it made him feel the frightening chills of loss and shock and grief altogether consuming, maddening.

 

Little Thomas went with them, always glued to Marco’s side. There was a camp set up in the heart of the woods just outside the east side of the city. It was a fortified circle with Military Jeeps and armed soldiers at the outermost layer. In the center were several bonfires and tents for the civilians. The officers were placed somewhere in between, with bigger tents with generators and proper tables. Every night they would meet and talk in hushed tones, their lackeys always on guard for unwanted ears.

There were more civilians than military, but the latter held the authority still. Everyone was expected to pull their weight in the camp. Even if nothing was explained, everyone dutifully followed their instructions. Yet the dubious looks and muted murmurs of the people amongst themselves were inevitable. Despite the guarded meetings, it didn’t take full twelve hours for the all the people to know that the camp has lost al communications with the base and attempts to contact other camps have been futile.

It was five days after the three of them arrived. The man who insisted on being called Gen. Kenny gathered everyone.

He gave no bullshit consolations or half-assed truths. The General told them point blank, “Probably half of the country is in a state of emergency.”

It started with another one of America’s attempt to one up its neighboring Super Powers. They’d develop the most efficient medicine mankind had ever known. Japan offered their help: her most brilliant doctors and scientists assisting America’s dreams. Germany later provided the top-class machineries Japan had designed.

 It was hidden behind the façade of cancer cure. (Well, cancer was also a target, so it wasn’t an entire lie.) It was meant to heal minor cuts and bruises within a minute; deeper cuts, within three hours; malignant cysts in six hours; cancer cells entirely in a day.

Noble, isn’t it?

But it was primarily aimed to help soldiers in battlefield. As always, mankind’s greatest advancements had been adjured by the necessities in warfare.

They played with fire they couldn’t handle. It got too big, too destructive, and they were unable to put it out. And it burned.

The first tests were docile. They developed a pill and it made heavy bruises disappear within two to three hours and cuts, within a day. Four more pills were created before the scientists decided pills weren’t enough. So, it became grand and moved to cell and gene manipulation, which,in itself wasn’t all that surprising considering people have been using GMOs for quite some time.

It took twenty six trials before the first vial was injected at the base of the head of Patient 0. Patient 0 is the origin, the mother. She was normal for a day after the shot. Then her temper got worse and worse. The normally sweet lady whom everyone knew as someone with patience of a saint suddenly became snappy: cursing at the tiniest things, intentionally being rude to her attendants. And with it came her loss of appetite.

Everyone worried of course. They knew something had gone horribly wrong when all her hair started falling out and her teeth started rotting at an incredibly inhuman pace. She’d feel sluggish one moment and agitated the next. Nose bleeds became frequent and her eyes were never _not_ sore.  

By the third week, she’d become incorrigible—delusional, they said. She’d one crazy enough that they had her strapped down in bed.

A slight in judgment would cause the facility to crumble and it was caused by a newbie attendant tasked to feed the crazed woman.

That day, Patient 0 was meek as she had been two days before, yet her eyes darted around restlessly. She was quiet, deciding to ignore the scientists and nurses attending to her. That was until Patient 001 thought she’d earn a break from being strapped to her bed. Before she was even out of her restraints completely, her teeth dug into the other man’d arms.

Nine days later, half of the facility’s population had turned into crazed monsters, the next victim becoming more crazed, the effects getting quicker and quicker to manifest until it only took ten minutes for the “transformation” to be completed.

When the first rescue team was sent after losing all contacts with the island, they brought back no one sane. Recent history proceeded to repeat itself.

They managed to contain the damage within the small military-run building until one night guard goofed off and let three crazies out. Two were easily shot and killed, but one managed to get all the way to the dam which supplied a major city. He fell in the water, drowned, they presume, and was never found.

Three weeks later four isolated cases of “cannibalism” has been reported” In three of them, the police had to shoot down the perpetuator. But in all four of them, at least one law enforcer was bitten.

“As long as the nervous system is intact, those crazed monsters will be able to regenerate most part of their body. Their vital organs would take longer to heal of course, but not totally impossible,” General Kenny explains, “Aim for the head, because you sure as hell won’t probably get a shot at their spine.”

Jean instinctively moves closer to Marco, but so did the freckled boy. Their shoulders touched but neither said a word. Thomas pressed himself closer to Marco, burying his face in Marco’s shirt.

“Eversince since losing contact with the base, I have now the responsibility to make decisions to ensure the safety of you people. We’ve been doing pretty decently so far, but our supplies are depleting pretty quickly too. So there will be minor adjustments to ensure our survival—” there was a minor shift in the atmosphere, but the General did not pause long enough to give it much room “—Soldiers will deal with supply runs in the city. But all abled body will be taught how to handle weapons and fend for this camp. Do you understand? Anyone who has knowledge of the forest—tracking animals, skinning them, edible plants, midicinal plants—step up. Your knowledge is invaluable. Lastly, anyone who knows first aid, a nurse or doctor perhaps, please go to the white tents serving as temporary clinics. We need all the men we have now working. Anyone below fifteen years old is not allowed to wander away from the civilians’ grounds. Understood?”

Marco expectedly joined the medical team; worked as a life guard, he was a qualified first-aider and he had been in a pre-med program in Trost University. For the first two days, Jean had helped out in their makeshift clinic, but after admitting that his brashness was doing more trouble than help, the two-tone haired man left the group on his own volition. Of course he’d rather admit his own inability than get yelled at by the military guys. Those guys have guns and he sure as hell didn’t want to be known as the useless one.

So in the end, he joined the hunting party. Surprisingly enough, Jean was light on his feet. He was quick to learn reading animal tracks and the veteran hunters were more than glad to take the young male under their wings. He was taught to use the crossbow and proved to be efficient in that area as well. He credits the unhealthy amount he spent on first person shooter games for this aptitude. By his third day, Jean was bringing in a quarter of the kills everyday.

 

The whole camp experience felt like one of those reality shows where a bunch of strangers gets left in an island to fend for themselves, Jean recalled. Everyone knew of the “zombies” by then, but no one really _believed_ , sort of. Not until three teams never came back from their supply run. Jean was not really sure whether to believe that all three teams have been taken down by the monsters running amok in the city. For all they knew, the teams might have just decided that the camp was too much of a bother for trained personnels like them. Yeah, Jean has never been that person who looked at the goodness of others first.

 

When the fourth team came back—or at least some of them—a group of men in the camp had taken half of the camp’s provisions and ran into the night. Jean knew about it by accident. The perpetuator was the head of the hunting team. When they’d notice the eavesdropping male, they had actually asked him to join them. They even said they could bring Marco and the mute kid along. It was a nice deal, but Jean had never been impressionable, even if those were the men who had taught him how to survive an apocalypse (and he basically owes them his survival—he didn’t know it yet though.)

It wasn’t even like they were going to hurt anyone or do something that would really jeopardize the camp. The plan was simple: take food enough to feed them for a day or two, split the weapons, persuade at least a member of the medic, and leave in the dead of the night.

Jean had told Marco, of course, like he tells him everything really. And the freckled man had given him one of those calm smiles. And Jean knew that whatever he chose, Marco would go along with him. Jean had half expected the response. Marco Bodt had always trusted in Jean’s ability to size up the situations accurately and he had never seen the purpose of hiding it from Jean. At first, Jean had felt an intense pressure knowing that Marco placed his complete faith in him, but gradually, over the years, instead of fear, Jean had the overwhelming sense of purpose filling him whenever he had to make a choice. It heleped to know that even if Marco opted to just follow his lead most times, his lover was never afraid to voice out his own thoughts or call on Jean’s bullshit.

“They are good men, Jean. And they are capable of surviving in these woods without the military. They may be dangerous with the skills they know, but you and I both know they wouldn’t put any person at risk,” Marco gently tells him. They were inside their tent, lying side by side. Little Thomas was already fast asleep still glued to Marco’s side.

“I know. It’s not them or anyone else I’m worried. This is about us,” Jean says. To any other person, this would have sounded cold and cruel, but Marco has been with Jean for a long time. Jean wasn’t cold or cruel, but Jean was a realist and a survivor. “They are nice enough and skilled enough. But even with the weapon they plan on taking with them, their group is not stable. And these situations do things to a man’s brain. Plus, the military know more about what’s happening, I hope. And if ever, another base or camp might contact this place—that alone ups our chances for survival.”

Marco smiles at him, pecks him of the cheek before wrapping his arms around him, and falling into a peaceful slumber.

 

The first night Jean found himself alone, he didn’t sleep. Instead, he salvaged all the guns he could from the camp. He climbed up a tree and taught himself how to shoot. He doesn’t mind the number of times he could have blown his own face up.  By morning, he was as efficient in shooting hand guns as he was with crossbows. Flashes of his and Marco’s nights playing shooter games make the ache in his chest worse, but he disregards it in favor of hunting for food.

 

The men from the hunting group understood Jean and didn’t give him trouble for choosing to stay in the camp. He wished them luck and they let him keep the crossbow and all the arrows. There was not much left to teach the newbie by the time their last day together came. They let Jean do most of the tracking and setting up the traps, still giving him a few pointers here and there. At least, when most of them are gone, Jean, dubbed as their “most promising apprentice,” would be there to feed the camp.

When the night of their leaving came, Jean, Marco, and Thomas went into their tent early. They were long asleep when the hunting men raided the supplies. Two of the remaining thirteen soldiers in camp went with them.

Jean wonders if Kenny had known about the plan. No one said anything when morning came. The General had looked at the faces of the remaining refugees and his own men. His stoic expression remained unchanged. He was unfazed.

He went to check the traps alone that day, because the ones left in the hunting party were too chicken shit to go into the woods still without the trained men. The survivors of the fourth supply run team came back before he did. The General was talking to one of them in his private tent when Jean was coming back. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop; he just didn’t want his presence behind the large oak tree to be known.

So there he hid for half an hour more with three dead rabbits and two dead squirrels in tow after Kenny dismissed the soldier.

_“It was really bad, sir. The streets were overrun with those monsters. We used the back streets to get in and it easy enough at first. As long as we kept quiet, they didn’t notice us. Dawson said he noticed that their eyes were rotting and that they must have been reying on their ears and nose. So we kept really, really quiet…”_

_“Go on, soldier.” Kenny ordered. But the female in front of him was already her hardest not to break down._

_“We saw them, sir. Not everyone, but we saw some people from the second team and third team. Some were really dead. Half of their faces were missing, sir, and some of them were one of those monsters. I said we should leave, but someone insisted that the least we could do was put them out of their misery. It was stupid, sir. I was leading the team. But I let them anyway, because I let my emotions get me—” she started averting Kenny’s eyes “—I went to school with some of them, sir—” Kenny ignored the comment and nodded his head to let her continue “—We didn’t use guns, of course. We were sticking knives in their skulls, but someone got bit. And the rest of those undead must have smelled the fresh blood. They were onto us in seconds...”_

 

The cooking team which consisted mostly of mothers and the elderly gave Jean ginormous thanks by letting him, Marco, and Thomas have extra meat in his serving. The flustered man didn’t say anything not wanting to offend the cooks by declining their offer.

Jean knew that Marco saw he was troubled, but Marco also knew better than to force it out of him considering that Jean was still attempting to get along with the people in the camp.

There were only sixteen trained soldiers in camp and Kenny was talking about moving their set-up further up North. They had to get further from the city. Jean thinks it was only rational. If the city was overrun by the zombies, it’s only a matter of time before they run out of things to feed on there.

 

He saw a doe one afternoon. His first thought was how beautiful it was up close. His second thought was how it was large enough to feed the camp for more than a day. (He didn’t even want to think about how he’s going to get it back to camp alone At the back of his mind, he wonders if she had a fawn somewhere. He really wouldn’t want to be the reason Bambi loses his mom.

At the same time he had to do this for the camp, didn’t he? The more he and Marco secure their niche in the group, the more _not_ expendable they would be.

He had, after all, set out again after the midday meal, because they were moving out the next morning and the cooks had no more meat in the pantry. He really didn’t mind stocking up their supply. He also didn’t mind being alone much on the hunt anymore. “Bunch of useless cowards,” he murmurs to himself. Still, he didn’t miss the worried furrow on his lover’s forehead when he’d told him he’d be hunting.

“Come back before dark, alright,” Marco said, leaning in to kiss him. It was one of those short and sweet kisses—non-sexual, but more meaningful than the fervent, desperate ones during sex. It was a promise of stability.

 First, Jean tied the five squirrels he’s caught to a tree. The trees in that area were already well marked, Jean was sure he wouldn’t get lost. He couldn’t say the same when he had followed the doe deeper in the woods.

The doe reached a stream and bent down to lap at the water. Jean crouched down below a large tree, aiming the crossbow. When he sets a foot forward, a trap—not one of their own—activates and drags him by his feet. Startled, the doe flees. Jean doesn’t notice it anymore, panic settling in. He thrashed and hit his head on the trunk.

“Shit, Marco’s going to be pissed,” he though before passing out.  

 

He doesn’t see a pissed Marco, when he gets back to camp.

In fact, there was no camp to return to, only a burnt down place littered with the dead and undead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's really not the end.

**Author's Note:**

> * Biology subject - let's pretend it's part of Marco's curriculum  
> **German language subject for beginners  
> Also, my German is currently very limited. Feel free to correct stuff b"d.


End file.
